Of Bars, Guilt Trips, and Maple Syrup
by Daring Dashwood
Summary: “I’ll say it bluntly. You and I both know that I’ve always loved Alfred more than I’ve loved you, even when you two were only little colonies.” One-Shot. Established UsxUK.


Of Bars, Guilt Trips, and Maple Syrup

A Hetalia One-shot

_Established UsUk_

--

"You need sleep, Alfred."

The American opened his mouth to protest, but England silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"I'm not leaving any room for discussion. You—you're a mess, Alfred. Please, just get some sleep."

Seeing that America was still slightly unconvinced, Arthur pulled out his rarely used secret weapon, one that the former was fond of using.

"For _me_?"

The younger nation stared at him, searching, realizing that nothing he could do would change the other's mind. He finally grinned at Arthur, albeit it a weary and far from million watt one.

"I guess I just can't resist that face, can I?"

--

England watched his lover sleep, frowning at the deep bags under his eyes and how frail and sickly he'd become. He hadn't seen him like this since, well, the depression.

After giving him a quick peck on the cheek and brushing the stray hairs out of his eyes, England rose and left the room, closing the door behind him softly.

Grabbing a jacket—he thought of taking Alfred's, but decided against it; it was comfortable, but if any nation saw him with it he'd _never_ live it down—he left his house after writing a brief note for Alfred when he wakes up.

It said that he'd gone out to the local pub, and would be back soon.

--

England strode into the pub, sitting down at the nearest bar stool. With practiced ease he ordered his alcohol, keeping in mind that America wasn't with him to drag him home, so he had to stay at least partially sober lest he embarrass himself and never show his face in this town again. As he waited for the drink, he noticed the person sitting next to him, absently swirling a daiquiri. His massive eyebrows furrowed into a hairy caterpillar as he tried to remember the nation's name.

Kanana? No, that wasn't it. "Kadna?" he tried.

The nation turned to him. "It's _Canada_, England." His expiration at his ability to be forgotten palpable in his tone.

"Ah, sorry." Realization flooded through the older nation. He'd raised the boy alongside Alfred, how could he have forgotten him…?

His shot was pushed to him across the table, and he snatched it up, downing it in one gulp.

"So, what are you doing here?" Canada was one of the very last nations he'd pin for a drinker.

"Oh, I don't really drink often," the nation clarified, a faint blush pooling in his cheeks. "It's just—well—today's special, eh?"

Arthur wracked his brain fiercely for how July first was in any way important to the twin, drawing a blank. Canada sighed.

"Today is the anniversary of, well," he swirled his drink furiously, attempting to mask the awkwardness of his statement. "my independence from you, England." Independence was really one of the last things the Canadian would want to bring up to England, most especially during the week before America's own independence when it was a really touchy subject.

"Oh, I see," was all the Brit said, swallowing another shot. Matthew eyed the five already empty glasses. Just when had he…?

There was a pregnant pause for a handful of minutes, Canada poking the ice cubes in his drink as England debated how to word his next sentence.

Finally—

"I suppose…that an apology is in order, Canada." The words were drawn out, unsure.

The twin blinked at that. "Eh?"

"I—" Arthur cleared his throat nervously. "I know it was wrong, but I just couldn't help myself."

Matthew cocked his head to one side, uncomprehending. He watched with confusion as England had an internal battle with himself, before staring him straight in the eye.

"I'll say it bluntly. You and I both know that I've always loved Alfred more than I've loved you, even when you two were only little colonies."

Although he sounded downright miserable as he said it, the statement still drew a flinch of pain from Canada.

"I tried," England continued, wiping away the slight moisture that had gathered at his eyes. "I tried as hard as I could to love you as much as I loved him. I knew that as a parent it was so bloody _wrong_ to place one child above another. I just—I couldn't help myself."

Canada knew this conversation would come eventually, and yet had neglected to prepare for it. 'It's not your fault' was all he could come up with, but seeing as it actually _was_ he just settled for keeping his mouth shut and waited for the other to finish. He was not his brother; he would not feed the Englishmen sugar coated lies to spare him pain.

"Maybe, if we had found you before we found America, it would've all been different. Maybe you wouldn't be forgotten as easily. Maybe I would've been able to love both of you equally, or possibly love you more than him. Maybe—oh, bloody hell, I don't know. Anyway, I'm sorry. Not that it'll fix anything."

It dawned on him that England expected a reply of some sort. "I—uhm—maple—I know I complain about being forgotten, but, now that I really consider it, I rather don't mind that much. I get less involved with conflicts and don't have nearly as much responsibility as my brother. All I have to do is make him pancakes with maple syrup, and he's content with me. Meanwhile he's…"

"Passed out from exhaustion and fatigue at my house." England finished.

Worry pooled sickly in the Canadian's stomach. "W-what did you say?"

"With all that's been going on lately, he gets so, so tired. And if he doesn't rest, the git ends up sick with fever. But don't change the subject, and don't lie to me, lad. I know being forgotten really annoys and hurts you."

"…"

The Brit stared down at his drink. "I'm not asking for forgiveness; only the arrogant ask that, and my glory days have long since faded since I was that vain. I only ask that you understand that there was no ill will towards you, no spite or any type of malicious intent behind it. It just…happened."

"I forgive you, Arthur."

Said nation practically choked on his drunk. Sputtering, he said, "Were you even listening to me?! I just said that an apology is not—"

"I know what you said, eh? But I've chosen to accept it, despite the fact that you wish it not to be. You believe that living with this shame is your punishment." Canada smiled at the dumbfounded nation. "But I don't blame you. Granted, you and the others factored into my ability to be forgotten, but the main reason is I. It's just in my nature to be this way, eh?"

"I—I suppose," England relented.

There was a pregnant pause, both scrambling for words. Neither were good conversationalists (that's what they had Alfred for).

Then, Arthur lifted his glass.

"To you, and your independence. Congratulations."

Matthew raised his glass in turn, blushing heavily as he did so. The two nations drank, then, the atmosphere much less tense.

Then—

"There is one thing I must ask, though."

"Go ahead."

Amusement along with a tinge of drunkenness gleamed in Arthur's eyes as he quipped:

"If you're independent, and have been for awhile, why the bloody hell is the Queen still on your currency?"

-fin-

Just wanted to end the story on a light note, but it is true. Canadians do still have the English Queen on their money.

The first ten or so introduction paragraphs with America were written quickly and separated choppily; I need to work on scene transitions. I was, obviously, quite lazy with this story.

-bleu-blizzard-


End file.
